It’s been a while… but! I am back. With a bang? At least a small knock.

My dad posted this – and I watched… went about my business… watched again.

It has validity in a world where a lot of what I read/see/hear is only as valid as the current Wikipedia update.

YET. Yet…

Being some with social anxiety, I find that I am having way more meaningful interactions with people, through the safety of the screen – then I might have otherwise.

The ability to monitor and edit what I say, to check my spelling obsessively, to only portray those points and thoughts in my head that come across the way I would have wanted them to – had I said them aloud… is extremely important to me. I say things that I mean, I express my beliefs, I am willing to be ME, candidly (sorta) without having people watching me.

It is part of what makes my brand of social anxiety – the kind that falls under the spectrum, but lets face it, is unique to me – so easy to shed when I am behind the safety of my four walls.

In highschool – I joked. I knew I was different and quirky and tried (mostly failed) to fit in. I tried to hide my ineptitude behind the books, the few close friends, and my air of “pfft. I don’t give two shits”. All of which was a lie.

I cared. More then I probably should have back then. But I cared. I scrutinized every. single. thing.  What someone said, or didn’t say. The parties I didn’t get invited to. The friendships that seemed to so easily come to everyone else. It caused me to miss out on probably quite a few opportunities, because in my socially anxious mind… it was never simple.

I personally suffer from a (few) handfuls of mental illness issues. The majority of them resulting in me being more comfortable behind my computer screen. But if I didn’t have the ease of social media? I would truly be lonely. I would be alone – without the option of the friends I have made through social media. Does the fact that the majority of the people I know don’t live anywhere close to me, bug me? Sometimes. But the fact remains… I would be way more lonely if I didn’t have them.

 

Advertisements

Tears

My birthday is this week.

I’m going to be 27.

Having spent this month living in a physical rehabilitation facility – geared specifically towards seniors and geriatrics. … I know that I have only been around for a fraction of a lifetime. I’m surrounded by those who have led full lives. Careers, travels, marriage, children. They have seen it all…and acomplished so much.

I can’t help but feel lacking. I had so many goals that were going to be completed by now. I was going to be done college or university. I would have had at least one child by now; and hopefully in a stable, loving relationship. I may not have lost weight, have had the perfect job….or even the “magic” romance. Yet – I would have acomplished something. Becoming a mom.

I think that has been the reason for the crying lately. Everything is reminding me of what I haven’t done, what goals I have failed at, the children that aren’t there.

Logically – in an emotionally healthy way – I would be happy of what I do have, rejoicing in what I can do – not foxused on what I can’t. Logically. …

I don’t know how to be logical about this. I’m trying – really I am. Letting go of dreams is hard though.

When I was younger I had extremely irregular cycles; debilitating pain,  almost always sidelining me for the better part of a week. When they did an exploratory scope – it was determined that only one of my ovaries had developed fully and properly. That the one was small , with a large space around it (where they said cysts and hernias could occur), and they didn’t know if t functioned.

At 15 (ish) I was informed that I had half the reproductive capacity of the average female my age. I was told my irregularities were more then likely caused by this imbalance – and that it may have been caused by one or more of the psych meds I had been on for the past few years. And oh yeah – since most women had two ovaries, and the average start of menopause was the 50’s – they predicted that for every year after 25 I didn’t have children …. my chances dropped exponentially. Nice huh?

All I have *EVER* wanted was to be a mom. To have my own children. To share my knowledge, experience the joys and heartaches, to love and raise a child from conception – through birth – and the rest of life. I wanted those late nights. Those random cravings. The tears of frustration when they won’t listen, and the ones of joy because they drew you a picture. I’ve known – that if I did not acomplish any other thing in my life – I would still be complete.

Hearing this news put a giant ticking clock over my head. Half the time of my friends. Twice the chance of failure.( I have miscarried. That is a different story all together. )

I have been told not to worry. That it will happen in time, that I could get invitro or adopt.  That things aren’t as bad as they seem…

But – I have a mental illness. I have been on disability for the last few years. My medications can cause birth defects. I could never afford invitro on the small monthly amount I get. I would not get approved for adoption. Not without a job and probably not with my mental illness.

So I’ve tried. To get pregnant. Since 16 I have tried – sometimes actively (on my part) sometimes not. Always hearing that clock ticking away, faster and faster. There is one crucial part of the equation. I have been lacking though….sex.

It has been a little over two years since I have had sex. Over four since having regular and unprotected sex. Yes – I was in a relationship until this past October.  No that did not mean he would have sex with me. (Again – different story).

So here I am. Turning 27. Two years after my clock sped up to double time. Careerless. A college drop out. Single and on disability.  Celibate by bad luck….and childless.

So yeah, that could explain whats going on. Why I am having such a hard time looking for the good. Why I get angry when I see a parent getting mad at their child – when they are just being a child. Why I don’t want to talk about my life…and what I haven’t acomplished.

I’m crying because every day – a chance of fulfilling my dream of becoming a mother – slips further and further from my grasp. My heart is breaking every time that clock picks up , just a little more speed.

Yeah…..that explains it.

Protected: Hopeless confusion.

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Day 10 – 1 confession

My confession. Its turning out to be harder then I thought. I’ve thought it over, and over and over. Ive written it in my head many times. I keep forgetting to actually write it down though.

Here it goes…

I have a mental illness. Well technically a few of them. They are not something I am ashamed of.(I don’t think…) I just don’t go yelling from the rooftops. Some days are better then others. Hell, some years are better then others.

It effects every part of my life. My social interactions, my work (or non work) environment. Its just who I am.

There are times where I don’t leave the house for days on end. Times where I don’t sleep. Times where everything I see makes me cry or scream in anger. I live in constant fear that I will never get better. Constant fear that what I have, WHO I am – will never measure up. That people will find out, not understand and judge. If they just asked… if they were just willing to get to know ME…

Every day is a battle. Somedays I win. Somedays I lose. Most days I just survive. Sometimes my anxiaty is so bad I can’t breathe, the walls close in and I just want to run. Days go by where I am so depressed I just want to give up. Then there are the times where everything is fine… life is normal, days go on.

I would never be able to get by without the small support network I have. Desiree. My mom. Jamie. Syl. My brothers. Each of these people I lean on, each of these people are willing to support me. I couldn’t do it without them.

So my confession is this:

My name is Robyn. I am broken. Apparently it is not fixable. I am still here. Still fighting. Still the same person I was yesterday. I have a mental illness. But I am not my mental illness.

I am broken. But I am not alone.

I was reading back entries from TheBloggess and I came across a post that connected with me. The post and all the comments really – just moved me.

This is my response.

I love this post. I am glad that I found it. I struggle daily with the idea that there are those, those very close to me who would not accept me if they knew the truth. The truth about my mental illness. The truth about my sexuality. The truth about the alternative way I view my life.

There are those who would be upset if they knew how hard I struggled. How upset they would be if they knew how much I lied to the world just to get by.

I really appreciate this post Jenny, and many that you make. I feel like I have found in you – a mysterious and wonderful connection. If only one way.

I am broken. But I am not alone. This will be my new creed.

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 35 other followers